


The recovery job (more squirrel)

by Dustbinflowers



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26721334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dustbinflowers/pseuds/Dustbinflowers
Summary: Wrench and Numbers are on a job to recover some wayward cash.
Relationships: Mr. Numbers & Mr. Wrench (Fargo), Mr. Numbers/Mr. Wrench (Fargo)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	The recovery job (more squirrel)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winterwinterwinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwinterwinter/gifts).



> Just a bit of a snippet, set maybe six months after Numbers and Wrench first become partners (see Histories and Rodent Emotions) -set in that same general timeline anyway. 
> 
> Numbers is a bit of a dick on the job, and smokes too much. Wrench hates him smoking, and calls him out on his bullshit.
> 
> No porn this time, just a reference to them having sex, and it gets a little fluffy (urgh, never dreamed I would write fluff about these guys!)
> 
> Okay, I think I have now reached peak procrastination. I really need to pack up my entire house, the movers are here in four days!
> 
> For winterwinterwinter, because more squirrel :)

They had picked up the target easily, in the car park of his gym.

“Excuse me Sir, do you have the time?”

The guy, looking down at his cellphone and fumbling with his keys while holding his gym bag, looked up at Numbers distractedly. Behind him Wrench loomed, face expressionless. The guy never heard him before he was felled with an efficient whack to the temple.

They cable-tied his hands behind him and bundled him efficiently into the trunk of Wrench’s car, put his gym bag, phone, keys and wallet in the back seat, and pulled smoothly out of the car park a minute later. They shared a look of satisfaction. They were fucking good at what they did.

The huge shed was twenty minutes out of town, on what had been a farm of some sort. The charred remains of an old homestead sat up a gravel driveway curving off from the road, the old gardens reverting to woodland. The whole property appeared to have been abandoned for a decade or more. The nearest neighbors were two miles away, on another gravel road. It was a useful place to “talk” to people discreetly, one of several such spaces that Fargo utilised. They had used it a few times.

Behind the old homestead was a stand of trees which concealed the shed. It was always cold inside, all damp, etched, stained concrete, the ghost aroma of long dead animals permeating the whole place. Wrench was of the opinion it had been a pig farm after they found the windowless concrete rooms off the main space, full of jail-like steel-barred cubicles and gutters leading to drains in the floor. Numbers was happy to defer to his judgement, all he knew was that the place gave him the creeps, but it was useful.

Their target was awake and groaning when they popped the trunk. Squinting in the sudden bright light he hunched his shoulders, unable to bring his hands up.

“What the fuck?” he demanded, attempting bluster “What is this?! Do you know who I am?”

Wrench reached to grab him by his upper arm and his pants, hauled him out of the trunk and set him on his feet between them.

Ignoring his protests and threats they marched him across the grey space from the car to where the chair sat. Wrench pushed the guy down onto the chair then moved to stand silently behind him. The man twisted around nervously to look at him. Wrench stared at him expressionlessly, and he twisted back to stare at Numbers, fear showing on his face for the first time.

“Look,” he said “ I think you’ve made a mistake. What is this about?”

“No mistake.” said Numbers pleasantly, “We’re from Fargo.”

He dug in his pockets for his cigarette packet and lighter, lit one up and inhaled, watching the man’s reaction. Damn Wrench, not letting him smoke in the car. After a suitably uncomfortable minute he continued, blowing out smoke in the guy’s face.

“Mr Johnson, Fargo has some concerns. Some- irregularities have been noticed coming from out this way.” he paused for a long moment to give what he’d said time to sink in. Behind the man Wrench grimaced, raised his hands _Gross fucking stink!_

Numbers smirked at him from behind his sunglasses, took another long drag. Wrench rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and settled back on his heels.

“What kind of irregularities?” Mr Johnson asked. Numbers studied him. Yes, he was looking distinctly clammy. Numbers smiled his shark smile. Damn, he enjoyed this stuff more than he should.

“Mr Johnson, I’m sure you appreciate Wrench and I are not the people who do the book work, so we don’t know the details. We are more involved with- the sharp end of things. But the gist of it is that the numbers from your region are coming in a little off. Stuff is not tallying up. Basically, the concern is that there is some significant skimming going on.”

He watched the guy’s face closely, and saw fear rather than confusion. Mr Johnson stared up at him and shook his head.

“I don’t know anything about it. I do the books. There is our junior accountant though…”

Oh that piece of shit. He was fully their man, and he was trying to drop some young guy in it. Having been that young guy, Numbers was tempted to just shoot the bastard and be done with it.

He exhaled a plume of smoke at him again, and grinned in that way that scared the hell out of people when they were tied to a chair.

Wrench shifted and glared.

_Quit blowing smoke at me!_ He signed _I don’t want to smell like your rotten lungs!_

_Then step back delicate fucking petal!_ Numbers signed back, glaring at him over their mark’s head _I’m working here!_

_Fucking unreasonable working conditions!_ Wrench shot back. Below him Mr Johnson flinched at the sudden movement above his head. He tried to twist to see Wrench, but he was standing too close behind him.

“Look, I don’t know what is going on here,” he said, sounding panicky, “But I’m sure we can work it out. How much are we talking about here?”

“Over the last financial year each of the last three quarterly reports have shown anomalies.” said Numbers. “Fargo is reasonable. Anyone can make a mistake after all. But three months of first ten thousand, then twenty, then fifty thousand- well, even someone like me can see a pattern there…”

He took a final drag of the cigarette and dropped it, grinding it under his heel. Wrench sniffed. Mr Johnson stared up at him, waxy faced.

“It is not just that we need to recover the anomaly, Mr Johnson,” Numbers said “ Fargo seeks assurance that this will not happen again.” He rocked back on his heels, crossed his arms. “So, how are we going to fix this?”

Mr Johnson saw his salvation.

“ I can pay you the outstanding amount back at the office.” he said quickly “I can write you a cheque..”

Numbers laughed. He glanced up at Wrench.

_He just offered to write a cheque_ he signed.

Wrench snorted, and put his hands on Mr Johnson’s shoulders. He leant his weight and Numbers saw the man on the chair attempt to shrink, like a snail going into its shell.

“Fargo does not deal in cheques,” said Numbers “particularly not from companies with questionable book keeping. We will be needing cash. That would be eighty thousand, plus twenty for the trouble of having to come up here and sort the problem out. That makes a nice round number.”

“I-I-I can give half of it to you today.”

Numbers could see the guy’s brain going a million miles an hour. So he had fifty grand stashed, probably more. He was still trying to figure how to escape with at least twenty.

_He says he can get us fifty today_ he signed.

Wrench removed his hands from Mr Johnson’s shoulders. Numbers saw him breathe out and slump a little in his chair.

_What about the rest?_ he asked

_I reckon he has more stashed, is going to try and run with the rest_ answered Numbers.

He looked back to Mr Johnson.

“What about the other fifty?”

“It will take 24 hours.” said Johnson quickly “Neal- Neal Morris, the head of the company, will have to sign it off for the bank to release it.”

Numbers noted Johnson’s use of the boss’s first name. In small towns like this they had probably known each other their whole lives, but he was willing to bet the boss was in on it too.

He looked up at Wrench. _He says 24 hours for the other 50. That him and his boss need to both sign._

_The boss is in on it too then._ said Wrench. Numbers nodded and grinned, glad Wrench shared his hunch.

_Need to ring Fargo now. Give heads up and get the go ahead._ signed Wrench, thinking. _Then we go to their office. Get both of them to sign. We get Weasel-face’s money with both of them._

_I don’t like that we have to wait._ Numbers frowned _Too much time for them to run, or decide to do something dumb._ He shot a look at Johnson.

_We have to wait with them somewhere._ signed Wrench. He glanced towards the dark open doorway where the cages were. Numbers nodded.

_Ring Fargo. If they are happy with our plan we move._ Wrench leaned over Mr Johnson again, making him flinch. He pulled him to his feet by his shoulder and looked back at Numbers. _We wait in the car._

Numbers pulled out his phone, watching as Wrench herded the other man back to the car. Quickly he punched in a number on the burner.

Five minutes later he strolled back out to where Wrench and Mr Johnson waited by the car.

Numbers smiled at them from around a fresh cigarette.

“Mr Johnson! I’ve spoken to to head office. Fargo is happy with you to go ahead with half the money you owe now, and the other half tomorrow. Shall we go to your office and you and Mr Morris can get the paperwork out of the way?”

Mr Johnson nodded like he had a choice in the matter, and Wrench popped the trunk. He gestured for him to get in. He looked up at him, then at Numbers. For a second he looked as if he was going to cry. Then he sat on the edge of the trunk, arms behind him, and attempted to swing his legs over. Gently but firmly Wrench took hold of him by his coat collar and one leg, and hauled him in. He waited until the man had his head down, then shut the trunk with his usual slam.

Numbers grimaced, then laughed.

_That was loud._

Wrench shrugged, walked around to the drivers seat. He looked at Numbers over the roof of the car.

_Put that fucking cancer stick out_

Numbers took a last long drag and dropped the cigarette. He exhaled a long plume of smoke and got in. Wrench started the car and rolled down the rutted driveway. Out on the road he wound down the windows.

_It’s cold! Window back up!_ complained Numbers.

_You smell bad! I hate it._ answered Wrench, not looking at him.

Numbers slouched back in his seat. _Give me a fucking break_

Wrench ignored him, his eyes on the road.

Neil Morris looked like a thousand other middle aged small town businessmen. Bald, moderate height, slim, but with a softening beer gut where the gym wasn’t offsetting the bbq and beers.

Numbers eyed his horrendous tie. Decided a small child must have picked it for him. He smiled and held out his hand.

“Mr Morris. Nice to meet you. We are from Fargo.”

Mr Morris was caught halfway through the handshake. His arm convulsively jerked, as if he wanted to get away. Numbers could have sworn his hand got instantly sweaty. Despite wanting to disengage and go wash his hands, he held his grip a few seconds longer. Looking into the man’s face he saw their hunch was right. Yep, Neil Morris was in on it with Ted Johnson.

Neil Morris looked over at where Mr Johnson was standing in the doorway, Wrench looming behind him like the bogeyman.

“Ted. What’s going on?”

Wrench closed the door of the office behind them and leaned against the frame. The room seemed suddenly much smaller.

“Fargo thinks there is an anomaly in our books. These, um, gentlemen are here to recover it.”

Ted was looking at Neil as if he was attempting to silently impart information. After a moment Neil gave up trying to use telepathy and looked at Numbers.

“How much?”

Numbers dug in his pocket for his cigarettes.

“The entire amount that has been detected as missing is is eighty thousand.” he said. We have been directed to recover one hundred thousand.“

He tapped the packet against the desk, extracted a cigarette.

“Your man here has indicated that he can give us fifty cash today, and another fifty tomorrow. Now, time is of the essence, we would prefer if we could recover it all today if possible.” Numbers smiled “Then we will all sleep a lot better tonight.”

“Do we have the whole amount in cash Ted?” asked Neil.

Ted shook his head.

“Sixty maybe.” he said. The rest we will have to draw down.”

They stared at each other a moment. Numbers put the cigarette in his mouth.

Neil sighed.

“OK,” he said. “Fifty then fifty.”

“If you can’t give us the whole amount now that’s probably for the best,” said Numbers, “Fargo might decide to cut their losses and just tell me to shoot you if you do seventy - thirty.”

Johnson went waxy-grey and the skin around Morris’s eyes went white. Numbers grinned and lit his cigarette.

_Seriously? Can you not wait twenty minutes?!_

Wrench lurched forwards from where he’d been leaning against the door. Next to him Johnson flinched, then followed his glare to Numbers.

“Um, Sir, there is no smoking in the building…” he said hesitantly.

Numbers snorted and leaned against the desk. He inhaled deeply.

“Your risk of being shot in the head is of more immediate concern right now than you getting cancer. You should get onto that cash and the paperwork.”

He glanced at Wrench, who was looking like he was going to hit him. Wrench signed in an angry flurry.

_You ass hole! I don’t want to see you get cancer!_

_I won't get cancer,_ Numbers answered, frowning at him. _Some bastard worse than me will slit my throat._

_It might be me if you don’t put it out right now._ replied Wrench. His face was ugly.

Numbers sighed, recognising when he’d pushed it far enough. He took a last drag and stubbed the cigarette out on the edge of the table.

_Happy?_

_Fucking ecstatic. Lets get this done._

They stood over the two men as they organised the cash for the next day.

Numbers went with Ted to his office and stood by while he opened a safe. Checked for weapons, then put the cash in a small green backpack. Took out the bundles making up the extra twenty and brought them back out to sit on Neil’s desk.

“You’ll get that back if you continue to co-operate.” said Numbers.

“It should be available by ten tomorrow.” said Johnson, once the phone calls and emails and form filling and faxing was all done.

Numbers nodded to Wrench, who was sprawled out in a chair by the door.

_Ten morning tomorrow._

Wrench looked at his watch.

_Nineteen hours wait._ He looked around the room. _Maybe we stay here with them overnight?_

Numbers thought about the cold dark stinking shed, and nodded.

_They are being cooperative_ he answered _If they start being difficult we go there._

“So what happens now?” asked Neal. He leaned against the window frame. Numbers noticed he had stopped looking at Ted.

“Now we wait.” said Numbers.

“What, all night?” asked Ted incredulously. Numbers grinned and finger-gunned at him.

“Yep.” he said. “We can’t have you guys going home and thinking about doing something stupid, can we?”

“But I can’t!” said Ted “My wife will wonder where I am. I have kids!”

“We know Ted. Two girls, six and nine. You and Debbie must be proud.”

Ted gaped at him a second, then shut his mouth.

“Give your wives a call. Tell them something is up at work and you are pulling an all-nighter.”

It was twenty minutes after midnight. Numbers had reached the stage where he was over it.

They’d got pizza and milkshakes delivered and moved a television from a meeting room into the office. But the thought of ten more hours was driving him nuts.

He leaned back in the office chair and stretched.

_So much easier to just shoot them._ he signed, leaning back against the shelves.

_Fifty thousand easier?_ asked Wrench. _Come on, this is nice, usually we sit in the car all night, we are watching tv with these guys!_

Numbers huffed.

_Grumpy squirrel_ signed Wrench.

“For Fucks sake, do not call me that!” Numbers growled, glared at Wrench.

Wrench, reclined back in the seat, just grinned at him. Sitting in their seats, Ted and Neal stared at his sudden outburst. Numbers tried to ignore them.

Wrench raised his hands again, his smile sly.

_You like it when I call you my fuck-squirrel ._

Numbers sat bolt upright, snarling at Wrench. He could feel his face reddening, threw the signs back over the table.

_I do not!_

Wrench grinned, put his legs up on the desk.

_You do. You cum screaming._

“Oh for fucks sake!” Numbers leapt out of his chair and stalked out of the room, slamming the door as hard as he could. Fuck him.

He dug around in his coat pocket, then remembered he’d put his cigarettes on the shelf behind the desk so that he wouldn’t keep looking at them.

“Fuck you, cowboy fuck” he muttered, and went and stood in the dark car park for ten minutes.

Back inside he made coffee in the lunch room. One for Wrench, sweet and milky, and one for himself, sweet and black.

Coming back into the office he put Wrench’s cup down on the desk beside him, some kind of silent apology, retrieved his cigarettes and left again.

Smoking in the car park out the back, Numbers leaned against the car and watched the smoke drift upwards. He sighed. The nicotine and caffeine in his system made the next nine and a half hours seem doable.

God he was such a fuckwit. Always overreacting to shit. He was surprised Wrench put up with it. Well, he didn’t - he called Numbers out on it constantly. They bitched and fought, usually on jobs like this, when the tiredness and stress got to them, because in some ways waiting around with nothing happening was harder than going into a place shooting. When they got home they got drunk and made up, and Wrench did call him his fuck-squirrel, the bastard, and he did make him cum, so loud, not caring if the neighbors in the apartment next door heard.

Numbers ground the cigarette out. Stared at the butt on the ground. Maybe he should try and quit, or cut down at least. It was jobs like this that made it hard- when he wasn’t working he could make a pack last three days.

He sighed and pushed off from the car. Time to give Wrench a break.

The night went uneventfully. Neal and Ted both slept fitfully on the floor. Wrench and Numbers each took a turn to nap, and Numbers was surprised when he actually managed an hour of good sleep between three and four.

When the first of the staff arrived at eight am they were all up.

Neal sent Mrs Maycheck back out for breakfast- she came back twenty minutes later with coffee and danishes.

At quarter to ten they got word from the bank that the cash was ready for pick up.

Numbers accompanied Neal Morris down there in Neal’s silver late model sedan. All went smoothly and at quarter past ten they were all back in the office with the money.

Numbers rang Fargo.

“We’ve got everything. No issues at all.” he said “Any further directions?”

“A finger each, to assure continued cooperation.”

“OK, got it.” said Numbers, and put his phone in his coat pocket. He looked over at Wrench.

_Tripoli wants a finger each_

Wrench nodded, his face expressionless.

Numbers looked over at where Morris and Johnson sat, looking tired, disheveled and deflated.

“Guys,” he said “Good news, Fargo does not want me to shoot you.”

It was one pm, they were on the highway with one hundred grand and two plastic wrapped fingers in a gym bag in the footwell between Wrench’s feet, two hours from Fargo.

Numbers was driving and felt like his eyes were on stalks.

He spotted the diner off the side of the highway and slowed down.

_Have to stop for coffee_ he signed.

Wrench grunted, and reached over to squeeze his leg for a second. Numbers felt a warmth in his gut.

He turned into the carpark and rolled to a stop.

Inside, Wrench put the gym bag on the booth seat beside him.

_You hungry?_ Asked Numbers. The pastries were still sitting in his gut like bricks.

Wrench shook his head.

_Just coffee_ he said _and ten hours in bed with you_

Numbers wanted to groan with how much he wanted that too.

_Three hours_ he signed _I’m yours_

_You are mine_ said Wrench, his eyes soft.

Numbers kicked him gently under the table.

The server came around, a gangly teenage boy who slopped their coffee and stammered as he asked if they wanted to order. Numbers shook his head, remembering being that fucking awkward.

They both added sugar to their coffee and drank it fast. Numbers left cash on the table, with a good tip for the kid.

Outside Wrench chucked the bag at Numbers.

_I’ll drive the rest._

Numbers dug in his pocket for the keys, chucked them over.

He rested his feet on the bag and leaned the seat back.

_OK if I sleep?_ he asked.

Wrench knocked _Yes_ and reached over and put his hand on his leg again. Numbers put his hand on Wrench’s a moment, then signed

_Soft_

Wrench took his hand away. _For you, squirrel fuck_ he answered, and started the car.


End file.
